Author John Peale Bishop This balcony was wroughtOf fine iron of a man's thought.In the street the noiseBegins of schoolward lagging boys.Upon the bed she sleepsAnd the dark sheet my imprint keeps.I followed my desire.And am refined in the sun's fire. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments